


Disorder-ly Conduct

by DixieDale



Category: Clan O'Donnell - Fandom, Garrison's Gorillas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-04
Updated: 2019-01-04
Packaged: 2019-10-03 20:38:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17291006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DixieDale/pseuds/DixieDale
Summary: Garrison had often thought they were lucky to be stationed away from London HQ, at least for his own peace of mind.  Nevermind all the mischief and antics his guys could get up to in the city, HQ itself could be a minefield at times.Oh, sometimes the happenings at London HQ were routine, but often not.  Sometimes they were puzzling, often boring, sometimes infuriating; sometimes they were just plain bewildering.  Only rarely were they amusing.  This time?  The situation with Dr. C. W. Landringham?  Well, what you called THIS incident depended on where you were standing, but some wags took to calling it a prime example of Disorder-ly Conduct.  A pair of lowly file clerks called it, among other things, Protective Coloration.  There hadn't been much laughing around HQ recently, and more than a few thought it a pleasant change, even a great morale booster.  Well, perhaps not Dr. Landringham, but most everyone else.





	Disorder-ly Conduct

**Author's Note:**

> This comes shortly after "Words of Wisdom".

C. W. Landringham, a newly-fledged psychologist, arrived at London HQ two months ahead of the formal commencement of operations at the Department for the Study of Combat-related Disorders. He was eager to establish his place right from the beginning, hence his early arrival. He was anxious to do his bit for the war effort, of course, but also thought to use the time to gain some valuable field experience to bolster the learned article he intended to write for some of the top medical journals. (As an aside, he thought possibly to drum up potential clients for what was bound to be a highly lucrative after-the-war specialized medical practice in London). Between the lack of any practical oversight, far too much time on his hands, some bored staff members, and a pair of file clerks with a sense of humor that was perhaps just a little too highly developed, (maybe just a little twisted), excitement and confusion ensue, not to mention an almost overwhelming additional burden on the already heavily-laden HQ grapevine. 

Soon after his arrival, Dr. C. W. Landringham had unlocked the door to the corridor that would lead to the nest of offices to which he'd been assigned. He was savvy enough not to take the largest office at the far end, knowing that would go to the eventual Head of the Department, (though he certainly hoped to be occupying that office and that position within a relatively short period of time), but quickly made himself at home in one of the smaller ones just inside the corridor door. There, at the bare desk in that office, he sat and made his plans for the furtherance of his specialized studies. He could almost SEE the resulting report, in print, perhaps, nay, certainly in the leading medical journals, "Sexual Disorders Among The Military And Supporting Personnel In Wartime And The Subsequent Effect On Efficiency And The Lines Of Communication - A Detailed Study". He fully intended to have the first page of the report framed for his office wall.

He traveled the main building and those attached, noting the location of the various departments; he spent time in the commissary, listening and asking questions, learning about the people around him, figuring out who might best assist him in his special project. He chatted with the various department adjutants (knowing not to involve actual department heads in his endeavors - "they'd just try and put up roadblocks out of sheer jealousy!"). 

In the end, two names stood out, Evangeline Dolores Sweet, a lowly file clerk in General Military Personnel, and Anastasia Lilith Brook, another such file clerk, but in the Special Forces/Special Operations area.

How did those particular names rise to the surface as those most likely to be able to assist him best? Probably much the same way a cocky newcomer ends up being lured into stepping up onto a seemingly mild-mannered, yet unrideable horse, or a visiting swaggering Lothario finds himself being steered toward the lovely resident ball-busting man-hater with a whip-wielding brother. Yes, it was probably a very similar process that led to Ms. Sweet and Ms. Brook's names being brought to the good doctor's attention. All of those in on the joke sat back and waited in anticipation for the fun to begin.

Landringham's next step was to make the acquaintance of both young women, and get them firmly in step with his endeavor. Strangely enough, or maybe not so strangely, the two women were fast friends. After all, they had a great deal in common; they held similar jobs, were of a like age and temperment, both were single, both had dated a remarkable number of 'toads' who hadn't the initiative or wherewithall to become 'princes', and they both had a wry, even twisted sense of humor. They also had a goodly number of friends in common, some they even considered Friends, a few perhaps even Family.

He'd taken the ladies for a nice lunch at a small hotel they'd suggested, them having told him Hotel Marchant was both out of the way and discreet, "no one likely to take undue notice, you understand".

There he concentrated solely on them, thinking to impress them, charm them. He'd given them his background, made them acquainted with his training, both the one for which he was being engaged at HQ, AND his preferred speciality. He stressed how impressed he was with their accumen, at how much they must know that others didn't. As far as any casual observer was concerned, he probably WAS impressing, even charming them, for it was an engaged conversational group, to be sure.

It was Evangeline, 'just call me Eve', who'd confessed that, yes, she DID occasionally take a peek at the personnel files. "Well, quite frequently, as a matter of fact. Fascinating they are, sometimes! There are those I make a point of reading everytime they are checked out and back in again, just to see what's been added. Almost like a serial story in one of the magazines, you know??!"

He quickly asked if they'd ever seen the files for the Special Forces field teams, "those must be quite interesting. I have a theory that those teams, especially the more specialized ones, are rift with men with major psychological issues. I've heard of one team in particular, one run by a Lieutenant Garrison; seems it's made up of former convicts; I would think their files would make fascinating reading. I have quite a few theories about the connection between criminal behavior and sexual disorders. I would really like to get a look at their files." Yes, the mischief makers had been quite busy.

He didn't see the fast glance the two women exchanged, certainly didn't know they were remembering not only the files, AND the penciled notes all over them; they remembered who the men were connected to. Well, they also remembered that, in their own humble estimation, these were damned likeable guys doing a damned unpleasant job, and not needing any more outside annoyances than they already had. Okay, so the guys had their quirks, not all of those quirks particularly appealing, at least to the two of them, but still . . . 

"Oh, you'd be greatly disappointed, I assure you. I've read their files, both of us have, and there's little enough in the official reports, very cut and dry. And there are no notes of any importance, which there surely would be if there was anything like you're suggesting. Seems they're just ordinary guys with some specialized skills and some bad luck behind them. Nothing to interest you. Well, we've seen enough files and notes to know! There are others vastly more interesting!" Evangeline had her most calmly professional look on her face, somehow managing to keep her lips from twitching at the out and out lies she was telling. She watched the growing anticipation on Landringham's face with amusement.

{"Nothing of interest - unless you choose to count Goniff's apparent kleptomania. Or Garrison's compulsive behavior, along with his seemingly self-destructive tendencies. Or Chief's border-line claustrophobia, along with his obsession with that switchblade of his; almost auto-erotic, the way he handles it. Or Casino's thinking he's the reigning kingpin of the bedroom. Of course, Actor has a few delusions along that line as well, although in a more sophisticated way. Of course, they aren't totally WRONG, those two, just not nearly as RIGHT as they seem to think! They are both quite adept physically, but really! That smiling, even offhand attitude of "if it's not you, babe, it'd be someone else, so while I'm having a hell of a good time here and making sure you do too, don't go thinking yer something special. And do you happen to have the phone number for that blonde friend of yours, the one with the bazooka's out ta here??" from Casino didn't win him bonus points. And from what one of their more elite friends shared, Actor's outward charm married rather jarringly with his internal detachment ("yes, I'm still here; no, I haven't forgotten you're lying there under me; why do you ask?") even in the most intimate of situations, well. . ."}. 

She knew she didn't dare look at Anastasia; the two of them had discussed the similarities between those two more than once! Well, they not only read the files, AND the notes, they had met the guys on several occasions. Actually, had gone out with more than one of them on occasion. AND, they had other friends who had some rather detailed knowledge of the men as well.

No, they couldn't let Landringham anywhere NEAR the guys' files, not unless they were willing to retype all those pages, editing heavily and adding only the most innocuous of penciled notes!!! Oh, those notes!!!! But how to lure him away in a safer direction??

Anastasia, 'oh, I go by Lilith to my closest friends', quickly mentioned, "of course, it's not the official files that are so terribly interesting, so revealing, you know. THAT'S not where you'll find what YOU'RE looking for, doctor. It's the notes!" and the two women shared a simpering giggle.

"The notes?"he asked eagerly. Yes, these women had knowledge he could make good use of; they had been wise choices on his part.

"Yes, the penciled-in notes left by those who've worked with the individual, or had other contact. You'd be utterly amazed . . ." Evangeline started to tell him, only to be interrupted by Anastasia, "you'd be utterly SHOCKED!", getting a repressive look from Evangeline, slightly the older of the two.

"Yes, as I was saying, you'd be utterly amazed, and yes, sometimes utterly shocked at the comments people have left in the margins! Things you'd never guess, never believe," accompanying that with a high-pitched titter. "Nothing like working with a person to get quite a different perspective, you know! Quite intriguing, sometimes quite titillating even, those notes. Why, the things some people get up to, the bees they have in their bonnets, it's better than the best sensation novel or scandal sheet you can imagine!"

Landringham was all but salivating, and it wasn't over the plate of fish and mushy peas that had been placed before him. No, he had hit the mother lode, and he just KNEW a brilliant research study was in the palm of his hand. They talked, he made a cautious appeal to their sense of duty, all in the name of scientific advancement, perhaps a hint of possible employment after the war, and gradually he won them over across a final cup of coffee and a shared plate of macaroons. 

On the way back to HQ he congratulated himself on his powers of persuasion; the women hadn't even asked for any monetary reimbursement in exchange for keeping their eye open for any particularly interesting files, for the forwarding of such files discreetly to his new office. No, they'd seemed thrilled just to be able to share their more 'interesting' finds. It was a good thing they'd already read the files on that Lieutenant Garrison and his men. Why, he could have wasted a great deal of time on a wild goose chase, all on the basis of some silly gossip by the hoi polloi who likely wouldn't recognize a real psychological or sexual disorder if they saw it!

At that quiet table in the corner of Marchant's dining room, Evangeline and Anastasia looked at each other, then a snicker trickled out of Evangeline (who NEVER willingly let herself be called Eve!) and then Anastasia ("Lilith??! - what the holy hell was my mother thinking? Anastasia wasn't bad enough??!").

"Let's see, what was the name of that Corporal who made the grand claims of his prowess and his endurance, and never could deliver past a hesitant little kiss, was always 'too tired from the stress of duty'? What's the term for someone who just can't get enough, constantly up and on the prowl? I'm sure there must be one, other than just 'hound'. Satyriastistic Disorder, maybe?"

"And the one so prim and proper he spent our entire date lecturing me on the inappropriate amount of lip rouge I was wearing, and how the application of perfume displayed an unbecoming desire for attention? What do you think, Exhibitionistic Disorder? And the one you told me about, who wouldn't even raise his eyes to look at anyone else in the room, especially that couple being so free with each other in the corner, saying it was ever so RUDE to stare at people? Voyeuristic Disorder would be my guess."

"Ooooh, what about the one so uptight he made you arrive at the restaurant separately and wouldn't even make eye contact in the hallway, and once you got back to the flat wanted to do it in a room with no windows 'just in case'; even after you told him, before you showed him the door, that that would mean doing it in the closet? Another Exhibitionist, maybe. And then there's . . . . ".

The conversation, and the list, grew and grew, and there were more than a few in the dining room who wondered what had those two young women laughing so much. It was rather an attractive sight in those grim days.

Taking a fast look at her watch, Evangeline crumpled her napkin beside her plate, and placed that list in her purse, reminding Anastasia, "we have to be careful, make sure the notes are so very far off-base that no one but a total idiot would believe them, not for that particular individual anyway."

An amused chuckle, "well, no one but an idiot or a sexual disorder specialist on the hunt for a reputation and an office on Harley Street! You're right; we don't want to cause anyone any harm; it all has to be perfectly obvious to everyone except the good doctor that it's all a bunch of nonsense. Of course, there's always a few other purblind fools running around, but I think they can be handled easily enough."

"Think a drink is in order, my dear Evangeline. After our shift, at my place? Oh, and we'd best pick up a few extra pencils in supply; we have our work cut out for us, if we go ahead with this. I think my cousin has a few books on the subject; he studied in Switzerland before the war and I remember him saying he'd found Dr. Freud and his theories most fascinating. I'll stop by and see what I can gather. I expect we'll find all sorts of good material in there." And between the two of them, they decided that Evangeline would be the one to let one other person know about the good doctor and his lofty plans.

A quick call from Evangeline reached Joyce McClaine just as she was finishing up for the day. "Joyce, does your father still have those decidedly firm ideas about the confidentiality and misuse of personal information? Perhaps you could join Anastasia and me for a drink tonight, at her flat? You might bring your father. We have a little story to tell that he might just find interesting. Very interesting, in fact."

Conner McClaine, Joyce's older brother, had almost come a cropper several years ago when someone decided to spread around some highly personal, highly inaccurate information; had almost gotten the young man killed, in fact. Colonel (then Major) McClaine hadn't been pleased then, and had developed quite an aversion to such irresponsible behavior as a result.

 

Landringham was in seventh heaven. Not three days had passed since he'd treated those two file clerks to lunch at Hotel Marchant and already he had three files on his desk. He eagerly dove into them, reading the printed material in the first, but quickly realizing the ladies had been right; it wasn't the official records that caught his attention (mostly boring facts and figures, nothing out of the ordinary), it was those penciled notes, sometimes in the margin, sometimes on the inside of the folder or on the back of the typed pages.

"Fascinating! Utterly fascinating," he gloated to himself. He'd brought his most important research texts with him, positioning them on the small bookcase to the side, and now reached for one volume, thumbing through the pages quickly til he came to what he was looking for, 'Hypoactive Sexual Desire Disorder'. Another volume led him to 'Transvestic Disorder', and another to 'Voyeuristic Disorder'. He took the books back to his desk. That was enough to start with, though he'd certainly not end there. He had a feeling HQ London was going to prove to be a veritable gold mine of sexual disorders, all waiting for him to gather in the riches, file by file. He was already planning the learned paper he would eventually write; he knew it would become a touchstone for future research!

Day after day, file after file arrived, at least one or two a day. Those research texts were getting quite a workout, and so was the good doctor, flitting here, flitting there, trying to interview his 'subjects'. Well, that's what he called them; others had another term - 'victims'.

Landringham's victims were varied, unpredictably so, a Corporal here, a Colonel there, here and there a Major, along with others, though so far only once had he reached so high as to a General - various departments, various fields of operations. 

Someone, no one knew who, had dubbed him 'the mosquito', not because of his size, which was pretty much average, but the quick out-of-nowhere attack and the high-pitched drone of his voice. Not to mention the quick stab you experienced when he made contact, and the lingering irritation that followed. He would leap out from a dim hallway to grab your arm and pull you into an empty office for a 'consultation', no matter your protest. Of course, with the General, he just waltzed in and made himself at home; well, at least for the two minutes and forty-five seconds before he was tossed out on his ear by the General's adjutant, in response to the scarlet-faced officer's bellowing.

That hardly slowed him down. He'd corner one, then another, much to everyone's interest, and once he started easing the conversations into his area of preferred specialization, well, the traffic along the HQ grapevine exploded into a flurry of activity. Seemingly the good doctor had been absent during that lesson on 'patient confidentiality', or maybe, since these were not officially his patients, he thought those guidelines just didn't apply.

Just who decided to put him on the trail of the Dragon, the so-called Ice Queen, no one ever figured out, though surely the file clerks would never have had the nerve to do that on their own; heck, that was going even farther than a General! Far more dangerous, surely.

Maybe no one tried very hard to find out the name of the culprit, since they were too busy laughing their heads off (though secretly, of course!). There hadn't been much laughing around HQ recently, and more than a few thought it a pleasant change, even a great morale booster. Well, perhaps not Dr. Landringham, who was rather oblivious, but most everyone else.

 

There were new and most interesting words flitting around the halls of HQ, words Major Kevin Richards was not only puzzled at hearing, but quite frankly, appalled at hearing, especially in that setting. While he supposed it wasn't really any of his business what the other occupants of the building found to talk about, as long as it wasn't secret or classified material, he did find himself walking into, or at least overhearing, conversations that made him highly uncomfortable and more than a little puzzled.

Corporal Lewis, a basset-eyed man with even more of a plain vanilla private life than Kevin Richards, was expounding on 'fetishistic disorder' to one of his cohorts, bemoaning that he'd been tagged with the label, but couldn't seem to find a fetish that particularly interested him, no matter how much research he did on the subject. "Looks like there's all kinds to choose from. Seems like I should find ONE I've a fancy for, wouldn't you think?? Just, they all just seem so OFF, if you know what I mean? Do you think liking to have a quiet little game of dominoes beforehand would count? Now that's something I DO have a fancy for, at least sometimes."

The secretary outside Colonel Austin's office was overheard complaining about her boss (and long-time lover's) supposed 'hypoactive sexual desire disorder'. "Though you'd not prove it by ME, I can tell you that! 'Ave to wonder just w'ere 'e's spending it, ya know?"

General Kane's adjutant had been explaining to an interested audience in the commissary that his boss's almost legendary irritability was "probably connected to his 'sexual arousal disorder'". Richards, headed to the counter to get a much needed cup of almost-coffee, stopped abruptly, looking at the small group blankly. {"'Sexual arousal disorder' - doesn't that mean . . ."}. Now that made no sense whatsoever. He knew for a fact that General Kane had plowed his way through a goodly portion of the society matrons, multiple times, and had left none of them wanting, or at least that's what he'd heard from a giggling Julie, as she related the latest gossip. "First one the ladies turn to when they're in desperate straits, Kevin, I swear! Not my type at all, and you'd not think it to look at him, but still waters, and all that! Such stamina for his age, I'm told!"

Richards then heard about the desperately shy Private Dayerson's exhibitionistic disorder, along with his tendency toward voyeuristic disorder. And he refused to even let his mind dwell on the claims about a certain major with 'both transvestic AND frotteuristic disorders!'. No name had been mentioned, and he could only hope to hell it wasn't him they were talking about. He not only had no interest or inclination for the first, he didn't even have a clue what that last term MEANT!

Personally, Richards thought the whole atmosphere was becoming UNbecomingly heated and way too personal for anyone's benefit. Not to mention the sheer time being wasted on such matters instead of attending to the job, or jobs, at hand. And there seemed to be one or two other unexpected side results as well.

He'd heard the private in charge of running the small onsite library complaining that the big dictionary was starting to show considerable wear and tear due to all the recent activity, especially on certain pages, along with getting multiple complaints that the research section was severely lacking in some regards. "Can just see me putting in a requisition for books of that sort! 'Ave someone down 'ere wondering just w'at I'm up to!"

Then there were the pharmacists in the small onsite pharmacy; they were about to stage a rebellion over being asked for all kinds of samples of substances supposedly to aid in the resolution of those disorders. Or, even more troubling, in the DEVELOPMENT of some of those disorders!

Now he sat down at his desk and keyed the intercom. "Jeffrey, can you come in here please?" His assistant usually had a firm finger on the pulse of the local gossip, and somehow Richards couldn't quite imagine asking anyone further afield just what the hell was going on.

A bit later he sighed, "no, Jeffrey, I do NOT want you to explain what the various terms mean," after a gleeful Private Jeffrey Ames had given him the basics, and had spouted off at least half-a-dozen terms, all ending with 'disorder'. He didn't even want to consider how his young, gawky assistant KNEW what those various terms meant! "I DO want you to explain why I suddenly keep hearing those terms everywhere I go!"

And that conversation led to a phone call to Colonel Alfred J McClaine, and an agreement to share dinner and a drink at the club.

Across the table from Colonel Alfred J. McClaine later that evening, he pinched the bridge of his nose, his eyes squinted in frustration. 

McClaine, a lifelong friend of Richards' uncle Aubrey (though considerably younger than Aubrey, not more than ten or twelve years older than Kevin himself), grinned in enjoyment at the very proper, very upright Kevin Richards trying to get a handle on the very odd situation they were both enveloped in. 

Richards heaved a huge sigh, "I suppose I should be relieved he hasn't gotten his hands on my file. Or did your daughter's friends decide to have mercy on me and leave me out of the mix? I shudder to think of what they might have added to my file. Am I a secret libertine? A voyeur? Another one of those with transvestic tendencies? Just what disorders might they attest to me, I just have to wonder," he seethed at the whole ridiculous situation.

"Oh, they haven't annotated your file at all, though it might be interesting to see what they would come up with, my dear boy. Perhaps you enjoy a bit of whipped cream and chocolate with your bed sports?" 

He took in Richards' dropped jaw, "well, perhaps not. Sounds terribly messy, don't you think? And you're always so tidy. Maybe a bit of exhibitionism, liking to get it on in public places?" The look on Kevin's face wasn't in the least bit encouraging.

"Well, what about polygamistic tendencies? Have the strong desire for a matched pair of wives? Red-headed twins, perhaps?" He laughed at the glare coming his way, a glare rather more fierce than the situation seemed to call for.

"Kevin, Kevin, Kevin! Come now! Whatever happened to the boy who took a dare and jumped from the top of that waterfall into the rapids when he was six? Where did he go, the youngster who took off on his father's new riding horse, the one who needed the strongest of hands to keep him from bolting, hands you certainly didn't have at that age? What were you, ten or so? Somewhere along the way, I think you misplaced him, that boy with such a sense of adventure!"

Richards dropped any semblance of formality. "I didn't misplace him, Freddie; I tucked him on the shelf where he belonged, along with my short pants and ABC primer and my hoop and my cup-and-ball. In other words, I left the child behind back in my childhood, which it is apparent you and Joyce and those other two young women failed to do! For heaven's sake! Just how do you think to finish this? Do you have any idea? He's got to be stopped, of course; can't have him ferreting through private files and causing such discord, never mind the security risks! But it will be dreadfully embarrassing to deal with, especially with everyone in HQ just watching and waiting for whatever's to come next! It needs to be addressed privately, and quickly, and away from HQ, but how?"

Colonel McClaine got a positively wicked look on his face. "We thought you might like to add your finger to stirring the pot, dear boy. Just a quick casual mention on your part, of course; just enough to get him to request one particular file. Why, the ladies won't even have to annotate it to catch his interest, make him consider a short road-trip down to Brandonshire, only a couple of hours or so, all in the name of research."

Richards looked at him, puzzled, then with a dawning enlightenment.

Charles was bringing them another drink, and was most surprised by the bark of laughter coming from the normally reserved officer, the prelude to the roll of continued laughter that sounded through the dining room. That sound of pure wicked amusement was something not commonly heard from the son of their long-time, now deceased and unmourned member. It had NEVER been heard from that ill-tempered and top-lofty member himself.

"Yes, very well, I'll do it. I've been looking for just the right way to show my appreciation for her dealing with a nasty spot of business a couple of months ago. This just might prove quite acceptable, should amuse her considerably. I'll get on it right away." 

The evening passed congenially enough, and they both returned to their own quarters, surprisingly pleased with each other, them having grown rather more distant through the years. It seemed to Alfred McClaine that Kevin had become an old man well before his time, {"actually, quite a shame, that; the boy always had such potential. I know Aubrey worries a good deal about him in that regard."}.

On the other side, Kevin was of the opinion that Freddie McClaine had never totally grown up and probably never would. {"Still, not such a bad sort, once you get past expecting him to behave as an adult."}

 

C. W. Landringham was totally engrossed in the file that had been brought to him, even to the point of missing lunch. This time it wasn't something selected by his two cohorts; no, he'd been sharp enough to pick up on the oddity in that conversation with one of the Special Forces Handlers, Major Kevin Richards, enough to make a special request to Lilith for the file. Now, he read and re-read the notes, almost rubbing his hands together in glee. "Female Sexual Arousal Disorder, certainly - a classic case, and one of the most extreme nature! Beautiful!"

"But, what do you mean, she isn't on site? Is she away on assignment? I simply must talk with her!" He was more than a little dismayed to hear that Meghada O'Donnell, the one the file labeled with the code name of 'The Dragon', but that the notes called the 'Ice Queen', (along with other similar, but no more flattering names) was no longer under contract, wasn't around except on special occasions. He had intended her to play a major role in his paper!

Eve commiserated with him, but encouraged him not to give up hope. "If you really want to meet her, I suppose you COULD drive down to Brandonshire; it's not so very far. That's where she lives now. She doesn't take visitors in her home, but she'd most likely be agreeable to meeting you at the local. That's The Doves, I believe. Imagine Jeffrey Ames could arrange it; he works for Major Richards, the one who used to be her Handler, you know."

 

It was a typical Friday evening at The Doves; the place was rollicking, especially since Garrison and his men were onsite. The beer flowed, the jokes and merriment abounded. Doby had already been dunked in the horse trough out back for flapping his lips at the wrong time and had gone home in a sulk. That was probably for the best.

C. W. Landringham stepped through the doors, looked around in some dismay, and almost turned around and left again. This was hardly the atmosphere in which to conduct a serious interview! Still, he glanced at his watch and saw his subject should arrive in less than half an hour; surely he could tolerate the unseemly surroundings for that long. Then maybe she would agree to go to a more private setting, one where they could engage in a serious conversation.

A smiling blond haired man clad in an American uniform, Lieutenant's insignia proudly showing, stepped up to greet him. "Dr. Landringham? Miss O'Donnell asked me to welcome you; she'll be here at the appointed time, but didn't want you to feel neglected. Come, why don't you join me and my men for a drink? What? Oh, just call me Craig."

Somehow, Landringham found himself at a table of smiling, if overly relaxed men, explaining his area of speciality, his studies, and the projected impact on the future health and wellbeing of, well, just about everybody. It was easy to see they were impressed.

"Ei, I can see that. Lots of folks with odd kicks to them, no doubt. Seen plenty of those. Always thought myself lucky I wasn't one of them, ya know?" came from the other blond at the table, this one with innocent, perhaps even a trifle dense blue eyes rather than the officer's green sharply intelligent ones. "Sad, that, not 'aving control over w'at you do; might get a bloke inta all kinds a trouble, I'd imagine," that statement coming across as remarkably pious and self-righteous. 

"Yeah, that's right. Lucky you aint one of them, alright," came the deadpan response from the dark young man sitting along side.

Goniff nodded energetically, his eyes wide, "that's right! Why, you know, doc, there's some can't seem to even think straight w'en there's a skirt around; one look, one sniff, they lose their sense of direction and everything, end up w'ere they 'ad no intention of being, now'ere near w'ere they were supposed to be," sliding those ever-so-innocent eyes over to a suddenly uneasy Actor.

"And others, well, they can't seem to keep it tucked away even when the guns are blasting and knives flashing around. Right dangerous, that. End up being 'short-changed', doing stuff like that, if you know w'at I mean!" His sly glance at Casino brought back memories of that incident where . . . Well, the less said about that probably the better.

 

Landringham would have suspected a double meaning there, maybe several, if he'd been given the opportunity to follow-up on that brief flash of awareness he felt, but he was drawn away by the sincere questions from the tall man with the foreign accent. If anyone loved to expound on his theories, it was Landringham. (Perhaps just as much as Actor loved to expound on HIS!)

Now, somehow, he'd branched into his plans for the future, these men being remarkably receptive to him and all of his ideas. He explained the office he intended to hire on Harley Street, along with his expected income.

Goniff looked at him, slightly askance. "You think to make THAT much? Every week like??"

Landringham very kindly explained to the obviously uneducated and not overly bright little man. "Oh, no, you quite misunderstand. That's my projected per hour rate."

"For just TALKING to blokes??!" The blond was openly astonished.

"Well, men and women both, of course. And it's much more than talking. I will be helping them resolve their sexual issues, whatever they may be."

The Englishman looked quite impressed. Well, of course he was, why shouldn't he be?

Casino snorted. "So, you meeting up with the Dragon. That what yer thinkin of doin with her? Helping her resolve her 'sexual issues'? Don't know she's likely to feel she needs any help, doc. Might not appreciate the offer as much as you might think."

Landringham felt he was being taken far too lightly, and most unfairly, and hastened to respond.

"I assure you, Sexual Arousal Disorder is a most serious situation, most distressing for her, I'm sure. Well, it was quite well known in London, after all; one does not become known as an 'Ice Queen' without there being serious underlying problems. And there were other terms used that only illustrated the intensity of her issues."

Garrison was keeping his mouth firmly shut, more out of fear of laughing than anything else, though he was making it a point not to meet anyone else's gaze, particularly his pickpocket's. Actor looked fascinated. And Casino? Casino had a look of anticipation that should have caused everyone to look around for the pile of shit and the moving fan, and counting down the minutes til the two made their inevitable contact. 

Goniff, though, he had borrowed Garrison's pocket notebook and pencil and was busy working on something, his head bent forward as he apparently struggled to make sense of whatever he was doing. Now and again he licked the point of the pencil and added another figure, sometimes scratching out his previous work.

Actor smiled, "ah, here she is now, Doctor," looking toward the door.

Landringham smiled as well, though his smile faltered as he beheld the lush redhead coming down the steps from the landing. Her long russet brown skirt and jacket should have appeared plain, except for how well the color suited her, as well as their excellent cut and the matching lace that showed at the vee of the jacket that clung to her curves. The first button of that jacket started at the hollow between her breasts, and extended to her indented waist; there the jacket proceeded to flare to emphasize her hips. Her hair, dark red but with an unusual tone to it, was somehow styled to be both demure and promising, bound atop her head in loose swirls, but as if it would take only the right touch to send those curls cascading down around her. Somehow, that was not the picture he'd gotten from her file. {"Well, probably just thinking she needs to put on a good show, hide just how troubled she truly is!"}

A polite, reserved smile came to her face, and she came forward to introduce herself, her hand extended to only touch fingertips with him in lieu of a solid handshake. He'd thought to pull her away for a private interview, but it seemed that wasn't in her plans, not immediately anyway. No, once seated, she seemed more intent on ordering a drink and interacting with the officer and his men than listening to anything Landringham had to say. In particular, she seemed interested in what that Cockney was working on so diligently.

"You seem awfully intent on that, laddie. Something important?" she asked, leaning forward to get a better look.

"Well, seems it might be. The doctor 'ere says 'elping someone with w'at 'e calls 'sexual arousal disorder' can bring in a tidy sum. Oh, that means, not 'aving the proper interest in bed sports you outta 'ave, 'Gaida," he told her with an earnest expression. "Casino tried to tell 'im you probably wouldn't be interested in 'aving 'is 'elp, not anymore, but you'll probably 'ave to tell 'im that yourself. Seems a nice bloke, and ever so concerned he is," he said with a shy but helpful smile.

That got the doctor and Casino a rather aloof stare, though Casino seemed to take it in good graces, the doctor seeming only a little puzzled by the whole exchange. She turned her attention back to Goniff. 

"But that doesn't explain what you're working on," she argued.

He looked at her like she was just not thinking clearly. "Sure it does, 'Gaida. Trying to figure out your tally, you might say. Never thought of it before. Seems to amount to a tidy sum, though; don't want to bring you up short," he frowned, ignoring the various sounds coming from around the table, including a few that indicated some of the occupants had swallowed their beer down the wrong way. 

He looked over at the stunned, even horrified C. W. Landringham. "Ei, doc, you give a discount for cash? Special terms for regular visits? You probably do, right? Never thought to figure that in; 'ate to 'ave to do the w'ole thing all over again; 'ard enough figuring it out the first time round," a worried frown on his face.

A rich, lush, even honey'd chuckle sounded from the redhead, as she moved to take a seat on the Englishman's lap, wriggling to get settled just right for both their comfort.

"Will a check do, laddie? Or maybe I should just run a tab?" getting a wide, highly satisfied, even quite relieved grin from the blond. 

"Ei, now, that sounds just the ticket, 'Gaida. We'll settle up down the road, w'en we get around to it. No need to worry about it now, now is there?" pulling her close while she leaned down to kiss him, long and deep.

Landringham was sitting there, unable to speak, when he felt a firm hand tap him on his shoulder. He turned to see two uniforms, raised his eyes to meet those of the men behind him. 

"Dr. Landringham, I believe Colonel McClaine and I have a few things to discuss with you. IF you can pry yourself from setting up your new enterprise?" 

The smile on Major Kevin Richards' face was all cool professional politeness; only someone who knew him as well as Meghada did could read the underlying menace. Silently, Landringham rose, and walked away in the company of the two officers. At the doorway, however, he turned around, to see that that kiss either was one of remarkable duration, or else she'd decided to make a repeat of the first one. He gulped, seeing the Englishman's hands firmly planted where no one with the designation 'Ice Queen' would have allowed them to stay, and looked at the other men at the table. Their outright amusement let him know, without a doubt; he'd been suckered. The looks on the officers face told him something else; his promising career with the military was a thing of the past.


End file.
